CHAPTER 17 The Loss
"That makes us eighteen left," mumbled William.
He sat on the ground between Aris and Leen, while Minho and Newt sat across from them. Everyone was scattered around the provisional shelter. Henry and Rowan chatted with Frypan and Chuck, Bea and George were talking with the two boys from A, and Mae and Flor tried to distract Winston.
"We're still many, but if you think about it, we could get easily ambushed."
Aris grabbed his bat, which he had left lying around before. He weighed it in his hand and glanced around the shelter, counting those who had weapons. His eyebrows raised slightly at the number of people without weapons. There weren't many, but that someone wouldn't have picked out even one knife when they were unprotected in an unknown place was baffling.
"Most of us have some sort of weapon," said Aris. "We just need to get to the mountains."
William huffed and took his head back to rest it against the pillar behind him. "If we get there before we run out of water and food."
Contrary to him, Newt kept the bit of sense of humour that he had after all the loss. He raised his head, locking eyes with William as he smiled. "You're one buggin' ray of sunshine, you know that?"
"Says you," William said, watching Newt's eyes soften as they continued to stare at each other. "Oh, sorry, did you want to give us some of your wisdom, oh, all-mighty Glue?"
The sudden nickname caused those around to laugh softly. Mostly at the fact that William's tone hadn't changed as he said it. If anyone were to walk into their conversation, they would have believed that William was serious.
"What kind of nickname is that?" Newt asked, joining in the group's laughter. "And as if you would listen."
"It's a personal nickname only for you. You look like the type of person that keeps everyone together." William averted his eyes, trying to get his grin to subside before Mae, whose eyes were on them, could find another reason to lecture him. "Or am I wrong, mum?"
"Liam, don't talk to your mother like that," Minho reprimanded him, stifling a laugh.
"He's not our mother," Leen argued, trying to keep her grin to the minimum. "Flor's our mother, and Mae our dad. You two have no power over us."
Minho's eyes landed on Leen, a smirk playing across his face. "Is that a challenge, Greenie?"
"You bet it is," Leen said confidently.
The challenge, however, didn't take place. Not knowing why or what had happened, the five watched Frypan rush over towards Winston. There was a single gunshot. Everyone got to their feet. With their hearts beating louder than what their chests could muffle, their eyes landed on Winston, laying on the ground while struggling to breathe. He didn't have the gun, Frypan did.
Before anyone could give an explanation, Newt turned back, yelling for Thomas and Teresa to get back. Everyone crowded around Winston, unknowingly keeping a safe distance between them and the boy.
"What's going on?" Newt asked, turning back to the group.
"What happened?" questioned Teresa.
Frypan pointed the gun at the sky. "I don't know. He just woke up and grabbed the gun and then tried to . . ."
He didn't finish explaining, nor was there a need to. The few people who were looking at Frypan got their attention back to Wiston, kneeling on the sand, barely holding himself up with his hands.
"Give it back, please," begged Winston.
Not listening to his pleas, Thomas walked over to the boy. He crouched down, about to put his hand on Winston's shoulder as he asked. "Winston, are you OK?"
There was no reply, or rather Winston could not reply, since he threw up blood as soon as Thomas touched him. Most boys stepped back, surprised. Bea approached Leen and William, holding the girl's hand to keep her close.
"That's not good," Bea muttered to herself, watching Winston lay down on his back.
William nodded and stepped closer to Winston, stopping next to Mae. Her eyes were fighting back tears, and she pressed harshly a hand against her mouth. He placed his arm around her shoulders, allowing her to bury her head in the collar of his jersey.
"Did the infected usually transform into cranks this quickly?" William asked, feeling Mae shake her head. "Then, why?"
Mae could only choke out a simple phrase before her eyes watered. "I don't know."
Nobody spoke for a second, which Winston used to pull up his shirt, showing the advanced symptoms of the Flare. His stomach, where the Cranks had injured him, there weren't just purple veins, it was blackened.
"It's growing inside me. I'm not gonna make it." He looked up at Frypan, trying to reach the gun. "Please. Please. Don't let me turn into one of those things."
There was obvious doubt in everyone's eyes. Frypan more than anyone was trying to hold onto hope, but failed to do so. He fidgeted with the gun, passing it from his left hand to his right one.
Out of the few possibilities possible, Newt taking the gun from Frypan was not what William expected. They locked eyes for a second, exchanging worried looks. William wanted to stop Newt. No one should know what taking out a life felt like, much less the one keeping the rest sane. With Mae composing herself to face Winston's death, William tried to reach out to grab Newt's hand, but Thomas voiced his thoughts out loud.
"Wait, Newt."
Newt disregarded Thomas and William's hand on his weaponless arm as he crouched down next to Winston. He took his friend's hand and placed the gun between it and the boy's chest. Winston did his best to wrap his fingers around the cold metal with the last bit of strength he had.
"Thank you," Winston said, breathing in and out heavily before adding. "Now, get outta here."
William didn't allow himself to just stare. Up until that moment, he hadn't minded an important bit of information about Newt. Now, seeing as the poor boy reacted, it seemed like a heartless thing to do. Newt had tried to kill himself, for one reason or another, and now he was giving that right to someone else. No one except Winston had the right to take his life.
"Goodbye, Winston," Newt said in a low tone before getting up.
"Newt . . ." William muttered, reaching out to grab his hand, not caring if Mae was watching or not.
Their eyes locked again, but not in the way they had before. There was more than worry and sadness lurking in Newt's eyes, and William couldn't place it anywhere. As if on a reflex, Newt squeezed his hand, but walked away to get his backpack and resume the walk towards the mountains.
Silent goodbyes from Group A and Aris took place in less than a minute. Only Thomas and Group S stayed behind. Not for long, though. Contrary to them, Thomas was doubting what to do. Giving up on saving someone's life couldn't be easy for him, although neither was it for Group S.
"It's OK," Winston assured.
"I'm sorry," Thomas whispered, barely keeping himself from crying as he went to grab his backpack.
"Thomas." Winston's faint voice stopped him. "Take care of them."
Thomas nodded and walked away, leaving only Group S behind. They sat around Winston, knowing the chances of getting infected themselves were high, but they couldn't leave him alone to die. It wasn't easy for anyone; losing someone to the virus after a peaceful month without accidents.
There was nothing they could do, and it weighed on their consciences. Every little thing they could have done, what they could have changed, or if only they had taken his place. Winston made the eighth person they lost in two days, not something any of them were ready to let sink into their minds.
"We can do it for you if you want, Winston," William offered, seeing as the rest nodded along. "Any of us is willing to do it."
"No, it's OK," Winston replied.
"We want to stay with you, can we?" Flor asked, her hand landing on Mae's to comfort their leader.
The corner of Winston's lips curved upwards slightly. "That's alright," he whispered, lifting the gun to his temple. "Goodbye."
And then he pulled the trigger.
They stood still for a few seconds, watching the blood stain the sand to a dark crimson red. The gun fell to the sand, a few centimetres over where the boy's hand had landed. A minute passed, and they kept their positions.
Only when Henry got up did everyone's eyes leave Winston or the gun. He walked over to his backpack but did not go away. He got back, tying a piece of cloth around his nose and mouth, then pulling his sleeves over his hands.
"Henry?" Rowan questioned, watching their friend walk over to the dead boy, moving his arms and legs to make the position more formal, like one for a funeral.
"I wish we could bury him," Henry said, taking the gun away to put Winton's hands over his chest. "Someone, give me something to cover his eyes."
"Henry, leave it." George got up, trying to reason with their friend.
"No, I can't leave it," Henry snapped, his eyes watering as they landed back on Winston. "Not like this, I can't . . . he didn't deserve it . . . he had suffered enough."
"I know." George took a step closer, being immediately stopped by Henry's shouts.
"You want to get infected too? Stay put!" Tears streamed down Henry's cheeks onto the cloth. "No one else here will die, you hear me? Not like this!"
They took a step back, watching Henry finish the improvised burial for Winston. He then stepped back, yanked the cloth off his face, and accepted George's and William's hug. The three stayed silent, letting their tears flow as they wanted. One by one, the girls joined in, letting another minute pass by.
"We should go," said Flor, being the first one to let go and walk away towards their backpacks.
Mae joined her, getting everyone their backpacks to catch up with the rest. William, however, knelt beside Winston's lifeless body and, pulling his sleeve over his bandaged hand, took the bloodied gun. He needed to know that, if anyone else got infected, he would have the means to stop their suffering as peacefully as they could in their situation.
He strapped it to his holster, not exactly hiding it from any prying eyes. The rest could ask if they wanted to, and he would be completely honest about it. There was no need to lie. After all, he doubted anyone wanted to die from blood loss or become a crank; the only options anyone would have if he didn't take the gun.
There was no rush to catch up to the others, nor would they be able to do so without having to run. They stayed near one another as they walked. Only William, as he felt the stinging sensation get back to his neck, almost fell behind.
His friends looked back at him expectantly, not knowing why he had stopped. George and Henry, those closest to him, turned to walk over to him, worried expressions overtaking their prior mourning.
"My neck hurts . . ." William doubted, shaking his head at the ridiculous assumption he was making. "I need to bandage it. The cuts are making me go nuts. Can you help me?"
With a cloth around his neck as a bandage, William resumed the walk with his team. They trailed far behind the others, but made no effort to go faster. Group A stopped and decided to take shelter next to a tilted cargo ship. Aris made them signs to make sure they didn't pass by them. However, the moment they were near, the large group had already lit a fire.
"You sticks took a long time to catch up to us," Aris said, glancing at William, who left his backpack next to him on the ground. "You OK?"
"Yeah," William mumbled, taking a seat between Aris and Newt on a log. "Just tired."
The rest of Group S scattered, taking the free spots around the fire without a word. Their eyes travelled around the boys and Teresa, making sure all of them were unharmed. At least everyone seemed physically fine.
"I thought we were supposed to be Immune," said Minho, fidgeting with a knife between his fingers as he stared at the fire.
Next to him, Teresa lay down, her head resting on her backpack. Her eyes landed on William's for a second, then travelled back to the fire. "Not all of us, I guess."
Newt glanced from Teresa to William, but, like everyone else, his eyes eventually got back to the fire. "If Winston can get infected, we should assume so can the rest of us."
The lack of replies became an answer in itself. Thomas' eyes landed on Minho, then slowly made it to Mae, who sat between the two boys. Without a word, he nodded, his attention back to the fire.
"I never thought I'd say it," Frypan began, getting everyone's attention. "I miss the Glade."
Not long after that statement, Thomas left to sit by himself a couple of metres away from the group. Just when Mae was about to go after him, Newt got up and walked over to his friend. Some watched the interaction, others decided that the fire, or in Minho's case, the knife, was far more interesting.
With a hand over his neck's bandage, William got up, needing to be by himself as well. His mind was begging him to stay away from the fire, from anyone, in fact. He needed to go high, up the hill towards the opposite side of the ship, where the breeze could reach him more freely.
Nothing but the ruins of the ship surrounded him. The view was almost addicting. He could see everything from there. The fire, Thomas and Newt together a couple metres away from the rest, even Aris constantly sneaking glances at him, as if to make sure he didn't disappear, until he gave in and walked up the hill to him.
"Is this seat taken?" Aris asked.
"Go ahead." William motioned with his head for him to sit down. "Did Flor talk you into coming here?"
"No." Aris shook his head. "I think she said something, but I was already halfway here."
William chuckled, then raised his eyes to meet Aris's. "What's got you here? The sight, the air, or the company?"
"The three of them, I guess." Aris looked away. "I . . . There's something you should know. And, frankly, I'm surprised you haven't remembered already."
"Well, I forgot you remembered about your time in WICKED, so that's a bonus point for me not being able to figure anything out." William smiled at the boy, seeing him get more nervous by the second. "Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me. I know I was friends with Thomas and Teresa before. Were we, too?"
Aris reached into his jacket's pocket, from which he took out a perfectly kept photograph. "Not exactly. Sonya, your best friend, I met her in the maze. She gave this to me after I woke up from a weird coma they sent me in. It's a family photo." He pointed to one side, where a woman and a man hugged; the first signs of The Flare were present on her body. "My mother and father —" then he pointed to the other, where two little boys hugged each other, almost as if copying their parents. Both were identical to what William could imagine he and Aris would look like when they were young. "And my brother and I."
What? William thought, his hands scratching his trousers nervously.
"This . . ." William froze, not knowing what to do or say.
"I remembered, Liam," Aris said. "I remembered you."
"Me?" William repeated, too baffled at the situation to give any rational answer.
Aris took his torch and pointed it at the photo, pointing with his thumb at the two little kids hugging. "That's us, Liam. We're brothers. Twins."
Something in his mind clicked, but it never came to reveal itself to him. His brother was alive, with him, escaping towards an organisation they could only hope to find before anyone else died or got infected.
"Mum said not to trust strangers," his younger self's voice appeared out of nowhere.
"These strangers will find a cure for you. I have to help," answered a young boy's voice, which now William realised was Aris's.
Aris tried to keep on explaining all about their time in WICKED, and a hundred more excuses that William couldn't care less at the moment. His arms immediately wrapped themselves around his brother, bringing him close, which stopped his rambling.
"Oh, thank god you're alive." William felt breathless, burying his head in his brother's shirt collar. "Thank God, you're alive. It's you … I thought you were dead … I … Janson said … you forgot me."
"It's OK," Aris said, hugging William back. "I'm here now. I remember you."